


Off-Brand

by Illithid



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/F, F/M, Fashion AU, M/M, kalecgos is a fashion disaster, playing calvinball with lore, the aspects all run high fashion brands, trans chromie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illithid/pseuds/Illithid
Summary: Kalecgos has recently succeeded Malygos as CEO of Nexus, a top-50 fashion label... despite the fact he doesn’t have a fashionable bone in his body.Wrathion is struggling to revive the Earthwarder brand after his father brought it down in flames before his death, but struggles to balance financial backing and artistic freedom.Anduin and Jaina are trying their best to find meaning and bring about change in an industry ruled by literal immortals.All the while, the models plot to get their bosses together.





	1. Weft and Warp

**Author's Note:**

> The fic spawned by the question "what if kalecgos, living fashion disaster, ran Chanel?"
> 
> featuring plotlines such as ‘jaina proudmoore saves the day, every day’, ‘anduin wrynn has a come-to-green-jesus moment’ and ‘chromie is the real hero’

Kalecgos walked quietly through the bustling backstage of the _Nexus_ Winter Couture show. All around him stick-skinny Quel’dorei and Shal’dorei towered above him as designers dressed and prepped them for the runway. One runway artist gave him a sour look as he walked nearer. Kalecgos stopped, concerned. 

“Is there something on my shirt?” He asked the artist as she deftly applied eyeshadow to her model. The artist-  _ blue dragon, shapeshifted _ , Kalecgos’ mind supplied as he looked towards her- opened her mouth to say something but snapped it shut with a smirk. 

“I get the feeling  _ she _ will tell you.” The artist said, looking over Kalecgos’ shoulder.

“Mr. Kalecgos.” A strong, clearly unhappy voice from behind him demanded his attention. 

“Ms. Proudmoore?” Kalecgos put on his most innocent smile.

“For the love of Tyr, tell me you’re not wearing  _ that _ for your speech.” Jaina Proudmoore gestured to, well, all of him. Kalecgos looked down at his clothes.

“What wrong with it?”

Jaina looked at him with disappointment in her eyes. “You’re wearing three different browns, sir. And they all clash.”

Behind him, the artist snorted. 

“Well, I-” 

“Did you bring a change of clothes? No, of course not.” Jaina answered her own question, one she had asked countless times before. “We need to get you to the human collection and pray something is in your size.”

The Shal’dorei model behind his back whispered a mock prayer in Darnassian which made her makeup artist laugh. A stage director rushed past them. “Ready in five!”

 

Jaina grabbed Kalecgos by the arm and dragged him towards the men’s collection, rifling through the suits.

“Arms out.” She ordered. Kalecgos complied, wise enough to know when to listen to Jaina Proudmoore ( _ always _ ). Jaina began hanging numerous plastic-wrapped pieces off Kalecgos’ arms, occasionally comparing two together. After a minute of frenzied yet controlled comparison, she chose an outfit. 

“Change.”

Kalecgos looked around at all the bustling people. “Here?”

Jaina took a deep breath in, calming herself as her eyes rolled back in annoyance, before hauling him off again, this time to a janitor’s closet. 

 

Kalecgos slowly changed from his everyday clothes-  _ which I love, and are very comfortable, and I think they look good enough- _ into the high fashion clothes, a soft halscalian-style black mageweave pair of pants and a short white tunic with deep purple embroidery and stitched jewels on the neck and creeping up from the hem.  

“The embroidery is itchy on my neck.” He complained softly.

Jaina mumbled something about pains in her neck and opened the door.

“Why aren’t you wearing the jacket?”

“It doesn’t fit. I almost ripped the seams.” 

Jaina stroked her jaw as she looked at him, clearly trying to fix the jacket problem. She sighed, and took off the purple cloak she was wearing, wrapping it like a shawl around him, taking time to adjust it. She stepped back to inspect him, sighing. “You will be paying me overtime for today. You hired me as your lead designer,  _ not _ personal stylist.” She unclipped one of the strings of jewels attached to her pauldrons, stringing it overtop the cloak. Kalecgos looked down to admire her work. “Personal babysitter.” Jaina grumbled.

“Are these twilight opals? A very nice touch.” He complimented her choice. 

“I’m good at what I do.” She motioned for him to follow her back to the throng of models.

“Are we using these in any collections? I didn’t see them in the reports.”

“No, but I have designs for them in the Resort Collection, paired with a buttercup-colored embersilk weave that I’ve been working on.”

“That sounds beautiful. I can’t wait to see the drafts.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just trying to butter me up.”

“What, and ruin your Netherwind Collection robes?”

Jaina stopped to give him a funny look.

“What?” He asked.

“You do pay attention, don’t you?”

“I try. I’d feel guilty if I didn’t make an effort to understand what my employees do.” Kalecgos smiled, happy for the closest thing to a compliment his designer had ever given him. 

 

The audience clapped as the last line of models filed down the runway together, garnering Jaina’s attention. 

“You’re up, Mr. Kalecgos. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Ms. Proudmoore.” He turned to the opening to the runway. “And- you can drop the honorifics. If you’re comfortable with that.” He smiled again. Jaina raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lip almost lifting into a smirk. She nodded towards the runway, signaling he should go on to make his speech.

  
\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- 

 

Anduin rubbed his temples in pain as he sat carefully on the old bench in the Stormwind Cemetery, one of the last quiet places he could evade the paparazzi. He removed his lunch and sketchbook from his pack-  _ ALXTRZA X87 Redrune Collection, limited supply, excellent stitching on the exterior material with minor stain-proof runework within, _  his encyclopedic fashion knowledge supplied _ - _ and began to look through his recent sketches before he had to leave for Pandaria for the next event, the annual expo audition in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms where enterprising new designers could show off their work in hopes that  _Stormwind Collective_ \-  _ my father’s company _ \- would buy their designs, or even hire them. 

_ Of course, they’ll pick a design or two from some connected individual who based their work off of an old Noz Dormu look or vintage Earthwarder collection, from their tame days.  _

Anduin bit into his sandwich, disgusted with the state of his industry and his inability to change his father’s business practices. 

_ I thought I could change it from within- and what have I accomplished? A measly three footnotes about diversity in company hiring policy and a limited resort collection that the other designers directly undermined. _

 

Snippets from the recent production meetings tried to worm their way into his head as he fiddled with the design notes in his book. 

_ Hard-headed as the Earthen,  _ he thought.  _ Won’t give a moment’s notice to anything outside their traditional ideas of how the industry has always been.  _ He looked up towards the sky, over the oak trees and the Stormwind skyline as a warm breeze brushed through the leaves above. 

_ Something has to change, will change. I can feel it in the air, in the Light. _

 

A dark shadow floated overhead, and quickly passed. 

 


	2. Open Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open Orders: orders placed by a retailer with a manufacturer that do not require shipment on a specified delivery date. Such orders are often less definite, committing to the spending of a specific dollar amount but not to specific colors, sizes, or styles.

As he had predicted for the  _ SWC _ annual Vale Expo, held in the Shrine of Seven Stars, the majority of his peers had quickly coalesced around the more ‘on-brand’ designers. Some of the designers and brands were startups with a dream, others old low-tier companies with the occasional hit that  _ SWC  _ was willing to buyout, or just hire talent away from. Their displays featured thin Sin’dorei and Humans in muted greens and baby blues cut in modest shapes with small attractive details and appliques on shoulderpieces and belts, the company officials ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the seams and modern lines. Anduin continued around the room separate from the main pack, pausing at each display. Designers young and old attempted to curry favor and explain the inspiration behind the clothes, and received the same encouraging but disconnected smile from him.

  
“Did you see? I thought  _ Earthwarder _ went out of business.” A voice behind Anduin whispered.

“It must be a copycat picking up the scraps.” Another voice responded.

“If there were any scraps left. Did you see the monstrosities in their last lines?”

“It’s a blessing the brand died. Personally, I don’t want to see any necromancy today.” Anduin turned, only to see the two men disappear into the crowd.

“Excuse me.” He pardoned himself from the booth he was visiting and retraced the steps of the gossipers to a hearty throng of people. 

“Pardon me, please let me through.” Anduin wriggled his way to the front lines. A dark-skinned man in a turban and scale tunic with the pointiest shoes Anduin had seen in his life was proudly spinning a human model in a dress stitched from a thousand blood-red jewels. The dress swayed beautifully, managing to cover everything and obscure nothing as the light glinted off the crystals. 

_ The stitching isn’t the best, but there is a startling beauty to it. The movement is excellent, clearly using a princess cut for the top, but flaring out to loose shift pattern. _

As if to prove his point, a stray crystal went flying into the audience and straight to Anduin’s forehead. The host laughed while the crowd gasped in shock. A few people who recognized Anduin’s position in  _ SWC _ looked scandalized. 

“Of course, this simple prototype will be improved on a structural level, but the overall design is what truly matters. After all,” the designer turned to Anduin, “What is fashion without vision?”

Anduin turned the crystal in his hand as the crowd dispersed, some with lingering glances, others with sneers. He watched them go careful, only to turn back to the designer and redheaded model chatting grimly.

“Excuse me?”

The pointy-shoed man turned to him, eyes brimming with suspicion. “Were you looking for an apology?”

Anduin smiled slightly. “I get the feeling I wouldn’t find one here.”

The designer smirked with devilishly sharp teeth. “You speak the truth.” His speech was crisp and polished with a traditional Stormwind lilt, but hints of a more unfamiliar accent lingered beneath. “Who might you be?” He turned from the model, who had began to fuss with the hem. 

“Anduin Wrynn.” He extended a hand. The designer paused before regaining his exquisite composure with a knowing slant to his lips.

“Mr. Wrynn, it’s truly an  _ honor _ .” The designer enveloped Anduin’s hand in his own, white silk meeting black satin. Anduin sighed internally at the prospect of being sucked up to by another designer and attempted to redirect the conversation.

“Tell me about your branding. Last I checked,  _ Earthwarder _ was still held under copyright by Neltharion’s offices. His death wouldn’t have voided the name.”

The man smiled wider. “Exactly correct. And afterwards, it went into the holdings of one Mr. Sabellian and company, ‘until a time in which a proper heir of Deathwing Holdings Incorporated and Neltharion himself could be found and verified’.” He listed off as if reading from a formal document. 

Anduin narrowed his eyes. “Which makes you…?”

“Wrathion, son of Neltharion.” 

Anduin blinked slowly. “Neltharion doesn’t have any surviving children.”  _ This explains the dragonscale motif, though. _

“ _ Legitimate _ children. I am the sole bastard.” He said proudly.

“Do you have proof-” Wrathion was already removing a formal scroll casing from his belt, unrolling the legal document inside.

“A paternity test. You carry that around all the time?”

“I am frequently questioned on my parentage.”

Anduin shrugged. “Fair.” He looked over at the model, who was posing for a small group of journalists nearby. “Do you have a portfolio I could browse while you entertain the reporters?”

Wrathion’s grin widened. “But of course,  _ sir _ .” This time, the honorific felt nearly mocking. There was a small puff of smoke, and in his hands was a disappointingly thin leather binder. Wrathion gave a small bow, and gracefully turned towards the journalists, paternity test in his clawed hands. 

 

Anduin unclasped the folio’s wrappings and started to shuffle through. The organization was a mess, some photos were coffee-stained, the damn kerning was even off-  _ but the pieces inside. _ Featured prominently was the jeweled gown Wrathion’s model was still showing off, but beside were a dozen photos of garments made from the most peculiar-looking materials. Midi shift dresses and boxy overcoats shimmered with amber and aquamarine hues, nearly translucent, but fracturing into fractals the closer Anduin looked. 

_ It’s poor practice to magically edit photos in your portfolio. _ He ran his hand over the photo, trying to grasp at the ley threads of any magical augmentation.  _ Ugh, I’m no mage. I can’t feel a wisp of it. _ He shuffled through another few stained pages.  _ So unprofessional. Yet- _ Anduin glanced back up at Wrathion, this apparent son of Neltharion, blithely extrapolating on his grand plans for the future. He did move with the grace of a dragon, to be sure. Perhaps not as much as Ysera, but no one could match the founder of  _ dream.queen _ in her elegance. 

 

He looked away to survey the room and found the red headed model leaning against the stage with him. He might have jumped. A little. 

“See something you like.” The model intoned, her voice rougher than expected, with a slight Gilnean accent.

“I, uh, yes. These smoking jackets- the color is exquisite. I’m a bit disappointed that your, ah, boss has chosen to enhance these images, I think the cut would stand out on it’s lonesome-” Anduin stopped as the woman’s eyes narrowed. Her glare was piercing and remorseless. “Do… you disagree?”

“Yes.”

“It, it’s a compliment to-”

“They aren’t doctored.” She raised her lip into a mild sneer. “You must think little of him.”

“No, of course not, I only-”

The woman looked away with a casual dismissal that hurt more than any sharp words. “I knew not to expect anything from you, but I am still disappointed.”

Well, actually, those words did hurt.

She was already walking towards Wrathion. Anduin sat, a bit shocked from so many mixed emotions. Okay, yes, he is a higher-up in an industry powerhouse (read: conservative shitshow), and people usually offer him deference for that, but he is trying!  _ So hard! Don’t these people realize I'm trying- _ He stopped himself.  _ No, no. That’s not how I should be thinking of it. They don’t owe me anything. **I** need to make this right. _

He looked back to Wrathion and the model, who were whispering together. The designer threw a sideways glance at him, more calculating than anticipated.

He stood to make his way to them, but Wrathion turned with his toothy grin towards the staging area, throwing his arms up in a display of showmanship. 

“Ladies, gents, and those in between! If you will direct your eyes towards my stage, we have one last piece that will blow you away.” His voice deepened, dangerously suggestive. 

Wrathion drew back the small curtain to reveal a woman-  _ an orc, that’s daring _ \- in a tightly fitted black tux. She was leaned back proudly as she stomped into view, bare feet slapping the stage. But the suit- oh, the suit. It wasn’t just jet black, no. It was obsidian, volcanic glass carved into a suit, the sweeping lines of sanded fractures morphing around her pronounced shoulders. She turned, and the fabric-  _ how- _ rippled and dove and fractaled into eternity as the lights hit them just so and  _ oh my Light those photos were not doctored.  _

 

Anduin gawked, trying his best to take in every detail and guess at any conclusions.  _ It must be an enchantment, but what fabric would even stand up to so many illusions? Runecloth would never be so smoothly woven. Embersilk could probably hold those enchantments before a few days, but no one in their right mind would using it for jacket material, especially not with the stitches they used for the hem, it would pucker! _ His mind was going a mile a minute. The enchantments were intense, sure, but the execution was beyond flawless. She was covered in precious stones, but with none of the gaudiness and all of the class. The model’s long black ponytail whipped around Wrathion as he started to dance with her as he had the human model. He twirled her twice, and went to dip her. The orc apparently had other plans, though, and dropped into a dramatic lunge, dipping Wrathion low instead. 

The audience chuckled nervously as Wrathion laughed loudly. “And look, here! See the range of movement you can still access in this suit- beautiful, powerful!” 

_ So it’s decidedly not felcloth, but maybe if he devised a new form of mageweave- _

“Ugh, on an orc? I was almost ready to give him a chance, but a blunder like that…” 

“It’s just not tasteful. I mean, you know me, I have nothing against orcs, but their bodies are just not artful-”

Anduin snapped out of his curiosity on garment construction to listen into the conversation between two other  _ SWC _ designers. 

“What’s next? A troll?” The blood elf asked rhetorically.  _ In-season SWC, the blue mooncloth formal robes that I tried to get shown on the draenei model. _

It took all of Anduin’s self-control to calmly turn to the designers with a meaningless smile. “So good to see you wandered this way, sir, ma’am.”

They both did a double-take. “Oh, Mr. Wrynn, so good to see you! Have you been checking around the Expo?” The kaldorei woman said.  _ In-season Nexus blouse, fall collection, In-season SWC culottes, spring X91 ALXTRZA shawl. _

“Mm, I’ve been around. Seen some things, heard some others. Have you two any idea how he created such a fabric?” Anduin replied.

“It’s obviously an enchanted felcloth. I saw something like it in one of our shows, a few decades back.” The blood elf said.

“Hmm. You must be mistaken, felcloth could never hold such a smooth enchantment, it abhors a straight line. Besides, it’s much too stiff. It obviously has some give to the weave, otherwise the model never could have danced just so.”

“I don’t see the point of having stretch in fabric at all. This is fashion, not barracks-wear.” The woman said. 

“I appreciate it. Makes the clothing more accessible to a larger market. Not everyone has your figure, ma’am.” Anduin replied, adding a little boyish charm in an attempt to hide his mounting disgust.

She smiled haughtily. “And if they don’t, it’ll ruin the lines regardless. I mean, just look. For as interesting as the enchantments are, you can see the bulge of her arms through the jacket. I would never let that slide.”

Anduin looked at her, a little less kindly. “You mean… her biceps?”

“Exactly! That would never fly if I were selecting models.”

Anduin let that sit in the air for a few moments. “Good to know.” He turned his view back to the show. The human and orc model stood on either side of Wrathion as he fielded questions from upon the short stage, looking for all the world like a king of his 2-foot-high domain. 

Anduin started towards him, not bothering to say goodbye to his peers.  _ I’m loathe to call them that. And they’re technically my superiors. Ugh. _

 

The parties who had stayed around for the spectacle were starting to disperse into the rest of the Expo, giving Anduin free access to him. As the approached, the models shifted into what he could only describe as  _ bouncer position _ . He almost took a step back.

“Mr. Wrynn. I hear you had a few things to say about my work?” He tilts his head towards the human on his right. 

“Only good things. I- I was so wrong. How on Azeroth did you manage to create such a beautiful material? And with such movement to it? I’ll admit, I did hold my breath when your lovely model-” Anduin gestures to the orc on Wrathion’s left- “dipped you so. We were all waiting to hear a  _ rip _ . But no!” He was practically on tiptoe in excitement. 

“But no.” Wrathion smirked.

“Please, how did you manage? I think I’ll die if I don’t know.” Anduin says, a little cheeky, a little desperate.  _ Whoops. _

Wrathion takes his moment of excitement to crouch down, face uncomfortable close. 

“Really, now?” Wrathion’s grin widens, sharp teeth glinting in the bright Expo lights. “That would be just a shame. I’d hate to see such an  _ influential _ young man throw his life away.”

A drop of sweat rolls down Anduin’s back as Wrathion taunts him: not due to his fear, but the closeness of the dragon. So close that he can feel his breath- warm, smokey, somehow smelling of crushed glass- against his brow. 

Ever the diplomat, Anduin steadies himself.  _ I can play this game. _

“Mm, yes, all that sway, down the drain.”  _ Nevermind that the board will barely let me speak on a good day. _ “Perhaps we should discuss your designs, away from company property?”

Wrathion’s eyes flicker with uncanny zest. “Dinner. Tonight.”

Anduin grins back. “I prefer Krasarangian cuisine.”

“That is fortunate. My guards can pick you up at, say, 9?”

_ Guards? _ The orc woman cracked her neck menacingly.  _ Of course _ .

Anduin raises an eyebrow. “Rather late.”

“Why, need daddy to tuck you in?”

Anduin resists shuddering with his entire being.  _ The thought of calling my father that... eugh. _ Instead, he just winked. “Something like that. My address is-” Anduin started.

“I know where you’re staying.” Wrathion intoned.

“That’s unsettling.”

“You were in  _ Rogue  _ twice this week photographed leaving your hotel.”

“I prefer to read  _ Spelle, _ myself.”

“Heathen.”

Anduin shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

Wrathion quirks an eyebrow, his eyes sweeping up and down Anduin’s body. “Wear something… better.”

Anduin smiles despite himself. “Me? Never.”

Wrathion lets out a surprised snort. A small puff of smoke disperses into the air, but he quickly regains his own composure, standing upright again. The two men nod at each other, and go their separate ways. 

 

Anduin looks back just as he is about to round a corner to another display stage, and sees Wrathion do a complicated high-five with his guards. He smiles, shaking his head as he enters the throng of spectators.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is 87% fashion puns  
> Rouge=Vogue, Spelle=Elle, Darkmoon Faire=Vanity Faire, Harpy's Bazaar=Harper's Bazaar

**Author's Note:**

> ayy thanks for joining me on this wild ride! comments sustain my being <3
> 
> you can find me at gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com or instagram under the same name :-)


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